| When he was a boy dreamed of bein' a man
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| Probably dreamed every thing that a young boy can
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| He’s a lover a fighter a saddle bronc rider an all around hell of a hand
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| And the spot lights on the sawdust that shines in his brain
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| And his dreams are the bones in his soul
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| And there’s rivers of dance halls and wild red eyeballs on the road to the big
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| rodeo
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| Well the chutes are all loaded the riggins are set Lord the cowboy’s ready to
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| ride
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| Well it’s pull down his hat and he spit out his chew
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| There’ll be a hot time in the old town tonight
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| The horse in chute eight he’s a kickin' the gate
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| Lord he’s big and he’s hard and he’s crazy
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| And the chute boss is a hollerin'
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| Come on boys get on 'em I’m commencin' to think you’re all lazy
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| And the spot lights on the sawdust…
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| With his spurs in his shoulders the horse comes unglued
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| It’s like ridin' some kind of explosion
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| And the bronc he starts spinnin' the cowboy’s a grinnin'
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| Doin' fine there in all the commotion
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| The crowd’s on its feet the whistle she blows
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| And the pickup men rush to his side
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| As they pull him away he hears one of 'em say
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| Looks to me like a winnin' ride
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| And the spot lights on the sawdust that shines in his brain
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| And his dreams are the bones in his soul
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| And it’s all comin' true right in front of his eyes
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| Cause he’s the feller who won the big rodeo |